


Wrong Return

by westerno



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Don't Starve Together, Don't Starve: Shipwrecked, Gen, Maxwell being just an ass, Post-Game Events, Sort of a sequel-type thing?, WX-78 being the actual opposite of badass, Webber being badass just by existing, Willow being badass, Wilson being not very badass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2018-06-08 12:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6855070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westerno/pseuds/westerno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How long would past events pursue them - and to what end? 'Perhaps,' Wilson thought, 'perhaps to a good end, after all.' But no - no, it could never be that easy." A plan to destroy the Nightmare Throne goes slightly awry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

### Introduction

Willow exited the red automobile, looking over her shoulder at the unassuming cottage all the while. She knew that, for such an innocuous and innocent building, what went on inside was both complex and dangerous. To wit, the owner of this cottage was both of these, and doubly so. He was unpredictable. Unstable. Yet, he was a genius – not to mention a dear friend – and furthermore, she needed his help.

Wilson easily heard the two knocks – few enough to sound urgent while still maintaining a dignified air. This was not a delivery, nor a peddler of wares. This, he reasoned – and correctly, may it be known – was a guest. His work was thrown down, scattered haphazardly (though no more so than the rest of the study) across a monstrous desk as he abandoned his post to answer the door.

###### 

WX-78 heard the knocks, too. Additionally, it heard Wilson’s mad dash for the doorway. This latter was, in fact, the primary reason it decided to remain in its room, away from whatever human nonsense would be brought into the house. “INTERACTION WITH FLESH BEINGS WAS NEVER MY FORTE,” it buzzed to itself as it began pacing slowly about the room.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is caught up now with its near-exact copy I've got up on ff.net, at least. I've got much more written, but I'm hesitant to post a chapter without having written a substantial amount past it, if that makes sense. Although, at this rate, I'll have sixteen chapters written and two posted. Well, we'll see how it works out. Thanks for reading.

### Chapter 1

Of course, Willow had been fully prepared in the event that nobody answered the door. She kept her lighter with her at all times, and, being the professional that she was, there was little doubt that she could effectively burn the whole place down and feel not a single flicker of guilt about it. Nevertheless, she was pleased when the door swung open to reveal Wilson’s familiar face. Perhaps there was hope for the poor hermit.

Upon seeing him, she realized with some small regret that, to her, he appeared no less mournful, no less desolate, than he had the last time she’d lain eyes upon him – that had been just following her release from the Nightmare Throne, over three years past. She remembered how awkward that had been – perhaps “awkward” was an understatement.

Wilson stared at her speechlessly, fear in his eyes, certainly, but a darker demeanor besides. “Willow,” he said softly, tone betraying little emotion, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Such the gentleman. Willow remembered this. “Wilson,” she said in turn, nodding curtly. “I’m here on business. May I come in?”

“Verily,” he barely whispered – had he grown paler in those few seconds between words? She watched his hands shake as he closed the door behind her.

The room, she noted, felt stale, yet not unpleasant. The atmosphere was charged, but this was mainly due to Wilson’s agitated state. Willow regarded the vase of flowers on the table in the room’s center almost pitifully.

“Business,” Wilson prompted gently.

“Yes.” Willow procured her lighter from her coat pocket and clicked it open; closed; open; closed. “Wilson – how much do you remember of your time on the Nightmare Throne?”

He flinched, stared at her; terror burned in his eyes – but it was only a moment’s panic. He coughed, letting his shoulders slump.

“Too much, I fear,” he said wearily.

“Yes,” Willow murmured. She passed her hand through the lighter’s flame, close enough to feel its heat tickle, but not quite near enough to burn. “Yes, it has wounded many. Wilson,” she snapped the lighter shut and fixed him with a piercing stare, “what if I told you I had a way to end its reign for good?”

###### 

“Why, I wouldn’t believe you in the slightest,” Wilson blurted, but he knew his voice betrayed his earnest. “I mean – I mean – you couldn’t possibly-“

“But I _have_ ,” she said. He was almost sickened by how sincere she sounded. How long would past events pursue them – and to what end? _Perhaps_ , Wilson thought, _perhaps to a good end, after all._ But no – no, it could never be that easy. Good things didn’t just _happen_ to Wilson P. Higgsbury. He’d at first fought against it, but at length it had been easier to simply accept his utter misfortune.

“No sense in having to repeat yourself,” he at last spoke. “I’ll fetch WX.” He made as if to do so, then paused in the hallway. “Ah, you _have_ met WX-78, haven’t you?” He assumed she had – Willow, it seemed, was always in the know when it came to such things – and her silent nod confirmed it. “Alright then,” he mumbled, turning.

###### 

The Nightmare Throne wasn’t solely _human_ nonsense, WX-78 reasoned, its pacing becoming more frantic as it struggled to process what had just occurred. It had no way of knowing how exactly the humans had suffered, but if that was anything like the horrors it itself had experienced, then it quite frankly hadn’t considered a human capable of surviving such. Further, it understood that the fact that they _had_ survived such had led to them and itself irrevocably linked in a perverse camaraderie of sorts – deeply dark, twisted, yes, but true. It was utterly horrified that this was being called upon – it was quite the opposite of everything WX-78 stood for. Friendship? Teamwork? _Non-hatred_? No, this simply would not stand.

“SO GO OUT AND CONFRONT-FRONT-FRONT-FR—“ it conked itself in the back of the head smartly. That awful stutter— _NOT STUTTER_ , it corrected itself, _A STUTTER IS A HUMAN FLAW. THAT IS JUST A GLITCH._ Well. That _glitch_ had started not long after WX’s return to this world, and it remained in lack of the necessary parts to make repairs.

At any rate, its mind was made up, as it were, and it steeled itself – _HA._ – for conversation. Exiting into the L-shaped hallway that connected its room to the sitting room, it was moderately surprised to find Wilson, not poised, as it had expected, ready to knock upon its door, but slumped against the wall beside with his head in his hands.

“Ho, Wixxy,” the scientist greeted glumly, though he attempted a wry grin upon seeing the ‘bot. “I had guessed you to be eavesdropping.”

“I DO NOT APPRECIATE THE CONNOTATIONS OF THAT WORD,” WX-78 stated curtly. Wilson’s grin widened slightly. Oh, _good_. He was going to make a joke.

“What, ‘guessed’? You’re right; ‘predicted’ sounds _much_ more scientific.”

“NO, YOU FLESHY NINCOMPOOP, ‘EAVESDROPPING’ – OR WAS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE HUMOROUS?”

Wilson chuckled at that, but the melancholia which filled the air was even tangible to the automaton. If a robot can pick up on the social atmosphere, one can be sure that tensions are high.

“She says we can end this,” Wilson whispered.

“IT SOUNDS FAR TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE,” WX-78 said in a solemn hum.

A nod. “Well. I haven’t yet inquired as to what the catch might be.” The scientist was quiet for a moment, likely pondering the extent of this ‘catch,’ before he clapped his hands together suddenly. “We’ve time for neither dillying nor dallying!” he exclaimed. _QUAINT._ “Come on.”

###### 

“WX! It’s been ages!” Willow was, frankly, surprised to see the thing moving on its own. Last time she’d been in its company, the poor automaton had been a feeble being indeed, weak and unable to come to terms with the horrors it had experienced.

“WILLOW,” the bot greeted cordially, nodding.

“You’re looking well. I was correct in my assumption, then, that staying with Wilson would do you some good.” _And not just you, either._

“I ASSURE YOU, THIS CRETIN IS BY NO MEANS ANY MORE THAN A NUISANCE.” 

Wilson gave a soft laugh. “Same to you, Wix.”

“THAT NICKNAME IS BOTH STUPID AND DEMEANING,” WX admonished. Willow allowed herself a chuckle. She had underestimated how well they’d get on.

“WHAT IS AMUSING?” WX then asked. “I UNDERSTAND YOU HAVE SERIOUS NEWS.”

“Way to kill the mood,” Wilson mumbled, but Willow had been serious the whole time. She quickly composed herself. 

“Alright,” she began. “We’ve already discussed past events sufficiently?”

“TO DIG UP THOSE MEMORIES ANY FURTHER WOULD BE FOL-FOL-F—( _conk_ ) FOLLY INDEED,” WX-78 managed. Oh, that was new.

“Are you alright?” Willow asked. Wilson didn’t seem too perturbed.

“DO NOT CONCERN YOURSELF,” the robot said quietly. It seemed embarrassed to discuss it, and there really wasn’t time to dwell, so she continued.

“The thing is, I’ve found someone who I believe can, um… I think he can destroy the throne. Sort of.”

“’Sort of’?” Wilson repeated. “That doesn’t sound reassuring.” _Well, perhaps if you let me finish._

“No,” Willow said, “but I really do believe this will work. It’ll be like a, ah, cancellation of energies, if you will.”

“DO ELABORATE,” WX-78 demanded. At least one of them was cooperative. Still, Willow had to pause and think for a moment. Some of her plan was simple and ethical. Other bits… less so. She was certain WX would be fine with it, neutral as it was, but in Wilson’s case she would have to be judicious in her explanation. Not everything needed to be said now, did it? And it wasn’t as though she was lying to them, or even withholding the truth – not permanently, at least. All she needed was the two of them with her, in the car, driving to Illinois. Anything else could be sorted out later.

“You see,” she began, “I’ve found this boy, and I think he could be the solution to our… to this problem.”

“A boy?” Wilson looked astounded. “Willow! A _child_!?”

“Well, not… not entirely.” _I’m not sure he even counts as ‘human’ at this point._

“THE ‘CANCELLATION OF ENERGIES’ YOU MENTIONED,” WX-78 guessed correctly. “TWO NEGATIVES MULTIPLY AND RESULT IN A POSITIVE.”

“Yes, precisely, WX; I’ll get to that in a moment. While I’ve been keeping tabs on you and everyone else who has been through the same, I have also been on the lookout for mentions of anything ‘supernatural’.” She noted Wilson’s scowl with a sort of perverse amusement (how dreary, being a scientist!) “That’s how I found Webber. He’s a… well. Webber _was_ a boy. Then he got eaten by a spider.”

“ILLOGICAL,” WX interjected, “ARACHNIDS OF A BOY-EATING SIZE ARE NOT POSSIBLE IN THIS WORLD-WORLD-WORLD-WO—( _conk_ )” the robot had to stop and consider this. “OH. I SEE.”

“I… think I should sit down,” Wilson muttered, fumbling his way over to a chair. Willow hesitated, mildly put off by the way he stared blankly at the flowers –he seemed only half-there, flickering in and out of existence. She suddenly became aware of an excess of air in the room; it felt soft, cloyingly fresh. Her hand drifted down to her pocket, but she did not retrieve the lighter within. _Breathe._

“Wilson? Are you alright?”

“Hm?” It was as if he’d momentarily forgotten her presence (excusable – had she forgotten it as well?) “Oh. Yes. Do go on.” He waved a dismissive hand.

“…Anyway, I think Webber will sort of overload the shadow hand things; I don’t think they’ll be able to handle the use of something they created.”

“It’s a long shot, but it makes sense,” Wilson conceded. “All the same – a child…”

“A JUVENILE HAS ALREADY ENDURED THE HORRORS OF THAT WORLD,” WX-78 said. “WERE YOU NOT AWARE OF THIS?”

“What? No, I was not!”

Oh, for goodness’ sakes. Had she never told him? “Wendy, yes. Sure, Wilson,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant, “that’s old news.”

“SHE WAS THE ONE I FREED,” WX commented passively.

“Oh. _Oh_. Good God. I don’t know any of the others.”

“Don’t worry,” Willow assured the scientist, “you’ll get to meet them all soon. I’ll tell you about them during the drive.”

“The drive?” Lord, he was clueless.

“We need to do these three things, preferably in this order: retrieve Webber; find Maxwell; meet up with the others. Now, I know where the boy lives, and the meeting-place has been arranged; calls have been made. The only thing I’m drawing a blank on is—“

“Maxwell,” Wilson said in a tone so dark it shadowed the room. Willow had known this would be an issue, but there was no way to gloss over it.

“Wilson, unless you’ve succeeded in recreating that door, we’ve no chance of entering that world again without his help.”

“Yes,” the scientist reluctantly concurred, sighing. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

###### 

Damn. He’d had the sneaking suspicion that Maxwell would be involved in this somehow, but had been fervently ignoring it. Still, if Willow was looking for the man, he had something to offer. “Well, as an unfortunate matter of fact,” he began, “I may have some idea of where he is.”

“Really? Where?” Willow looked positively astounded, and Wilson couldn’t prevent a feeling of smug pride. “No, wait – how?”

He’d kind of been hoping she wouldn’t ask. “Well,” he said, trying to convey his discomfort, “he’s been sending me letters.”

“What?”

“I WAS NOT AWARE OF THIS,” WX-78 said. “YOU ONLY EVER MENTIONED THE ONE. SINGULAR. LETTER.”

“Yes, well, I only ever read the one,” Wilson admitted. “I burned it straight after; Willow, you’d have been proud.”

“A man after my own heart,” Willow said with burning sarcasm.

Wilson huffed a laugh. “Anyway, I’ve still got several of them unopened. They’re dated – a month, perhaps – but it’s a start. I’ll just – I’ll just go retrieve them, then.” As he stepped into the hallway, he was struck by a feeling of intense shame. That attempt at humor – under these circumstances – what had he been thinking? It was worse that Willow had played along. How weak they were! How utterly pathetic, he thought, feeling his throat tighten.

###### 

“IT’S GOTTEN TO HIM ALREADY,” WX-78 commented drily once Wilson was out of earshot. “YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN HIM WHEN HE RECEIVED THE LETTER. HE HARDLY MOVED FOR A WEEK.”

“I can’t help but mention it, WX. He’s the best shot we have. I suspected he’d know.”

“YOU LIE. YOU ONLY HOPED HE DID. YOU HOPED THAT MAXWELL WOULD. TRUE TO FORM. ATTEMPT TO CONTACT HIS _PROTÉGÉ_.” As much as it hated the feeling, WX-78 was annoyed that Willow hadn’t proceeded with more tact. Humans had to watch out for each other; they were all the same fleshy weaklings when it came down to it. It understood why Willow had done what she’d done, of course. But Wilson wouldn’t be of any help if he shut down before they ever left his home.

“WX, I didn’t come here to learn about morality from a robot.”

“JUST BE CAREFUL. HE HAS NOT BEEN HIMSELF IN A VERY LONG TIME.”

“You’re in no place to talk about that,” Willow said. Her words stung.

_AT LEAST I DON’T PRETEND TO CARE ABOUT HUMANS WHEN I DON’T_ , it thought angrily, _AND I CERTAINLY DON’T!_ But it didn’t say another word.

Wilson came shuffling back, shaky hands filled with crumpled, unopened envelopes. He pushed them into WX-78’s hands without making a sound.


	3. Chapter 2

“Let’s see the address, then,” Willow said. WX-78 scanned the envelopes.

“STATE: ILLINOIS. CITY: SPRINGFIELD,” the robot reported.

Willow breathed an almost-laughing sigh of relief. Wilson gave her a look of betrayal. “The meeting place is in Illinois,” she said quickly. “Kankakee. And Webber is hidden away in an Illinois forest.” Wilson no longer looked hurt, but Willow felt the need to further divert aggression. “I’m only – because that’s very practical, for me, having everyone in the same state. Driving out here to get you took ages.”

“You could’ve left us out of it,” Wilson said.

“LIAR! HUMANS AND LIES. I SW-SW-SWEAR!” WX threw up its hands. “SHE MIGHT HAVE LEFT ME OUT OF IT, WILSON, BUT CERTAINLY NOT _YOU_.”

“Oh? And why is that?” Willow knew he already knew the answer.

“THE WORLD WAS M-MADE FOR YOU, IMBECILE.”

“Anyway,” Willow butted in, “We should leave now. The quicker we start driving, the better. We’re taking this in one go. It’s a three-hour drive to the Trail of Tears State Park. Then three more hours to Springfield, and I think around three more to Kankakee.”

“In one go? Are you mad?”

“Well, I mean… yeah, Wilson. In one go. It’s not so bad. I slept all day yesterday, and the night before. I mean, I drove all the way here in one trip. Anyway – do either of you need to pack, or anything?” Willow herself had brought only her lighter, her license and money, and a few other odd items.

“I – um, I – Wix?”

The robot excused itself. Wilson, too, ducked out of the room and returned almost immediately with a raggedy carpetbag. _Of course he’s prepared to leave at a moment’s notice_. Willow bit back a smile, nodding. When WX returned, toting a suitcase and a bulky black umbrella, Willow turned to lead them to her car. “Like I said, I’ll tell you about all the others during the drive, so it won’t be a waste of time, or anything,” she said over her shoulder as they approached the automobile.

“A BEAUTIFUL MACHINE,” WX-78 commented, examining Willow’s car.

“Thank you, WX. Custom paint jobs are hard to come by.” _And expensive_ , she thought, running a hand over the smooth, red hood of the vehicle.

“WOULD YOU OPEN THE DOOR? …I DON’T WANT TO SCRATCH IT.”

“How considerate of you,” Willow observed, sliding into the driver’s seat and stretching to open the passenger door.

“OF COURSE. MACHINES HAVE TO LOOK OUT FOR EACH OTHER.”

Wilson slunk into the backseat.

Willow started up the engine and pulled away from the dingy little home. She’d be glad to get out of Arkansas, into Illinois, back on track. She wanted this over with as soon as possible. As stoic as she was trying to appear, she was shaky at the thought of returning to that other world.

She had been driving comfortably for half an hour or so, relishing the very faint smell of exhaust ( _just smoke from a sour fire_ ), when she felt Wilson shifting around in the backseat.

“Who are the others?” he asked. Willow sighed.

###### 

Wilson had lost time just looking at the Arkansas wildflowers zooming past the car window. The sky was so blue it felt fake. But when he remembered the “others” Willow had mentioned, he simply couldn’t stifle his curiosity.

Willow’s shoulders had slumped when he asked. He assumed that, like himself, she had been quite engrossed in a mindless act (driving, in her case). “Are you alright? You don’t have to relay the information to me now-“

“No, no. I’m just tired,” she interrupted. He could relate to that, at least. The movement of the car wasn’t helping matters much. When was the last time he’d gotten a decent night’s sleep…? “There are a lot. There’s… hell. There’s you, me, WX, Maxwell… Wolfgang, Wendy, Wickerbottom, Wes, Woodie…” she took a breath. “And Wigfrid, Walani, Warly, and Wilbur.”

Good God. It was a whole horde. He felt somehow guilty. “At least you don’t have to talk about four of those,” he offered.

“Right,” Willow said, sighing again. “Wolfgang is a circus strongman; not too bright but good-hearted. Has an awful fear of the dark. We… don’t get along so well. He was – I mean, I – you know. Like you and me, Wilson.”

“Ah. Right.” Wilson averted his gaze from the rear-view mirror, where Willow’s eyes were visible.

“WENDY IS A JUVENILE HUMAN. SHE DEMONSTRATES UNNATURAL BEHAVIOR FOR HER AGE,” WX began.

“Supernatural, even?” Willow cut in. WX-78 gave her a look that Wilson could only describe as “reproachful.”

“SHE IS ABLE TO SUMMON THE SPIRIT OF HER DECEASED TWIN SISTER, ABIGAIL,” the robot continued, “AND SHE IS NOT AFRAID OF THE DARK. HOWEVER, SHE IS NOT SO PHYSICALLY ADEPT – AS WOULD BE EXPECTED OF A CHILD.”

“She’s… interesting. As we mentioned earlier, WX took her place.”

“’WICKERBOTTOM’ IS THE LAST NAME OF AN ELDERLY FEMALE HUMAN; OCCUPATION: LIBRARIAN. SHE KNOWS MANY THINGS. I DO NOT GET ALONG WITH HER.”

“Woodie is a lumberjack. He’s kind of, mm, soft-spoken, and quite private. It took me ages to reach him.

“Wes is a mime. He’s mute, but he knows some sign language – though, most of what he says even then is very cryptic. Or he’s only telling a joke. He’s rather close to Wolfgang. He’s… fragile.”

“God,” Wilson said, groaning, “I’m never going to be able to keep all these names straight.”

“They’re all real characters,” Willow said. “They stick out.”

“WILLOW. I REMEMBER HEARING SOMETHING ABOUT WES – THAT MAXWELL HAD SOME DISPUTE WITH HIM?”

This caught Wilson’s attention. Anyone who hated Maxwell was alright by him. That was probably part of why he and WX had become so amicable.

“Oh. Yes. I’m not clear on the details, but according to Wolfgang – well, according to Wigfrid, actually, who is quite friendly with Wolfgang – anyway, according to Wolfgang, Wes was trapped somewhere and had to be freed. Wigfrid was the one who rescued him, so I do trust that information,” Willow said. “He might have been trapped there as long ago as your experiences, Wilson.”

Was she trying to make him feel guiltier? He could never tell if she held a grudge against him. “I never saw him,” Wilson quickly spoke. “I think I would have noticed a mime.”

“Alright, well, maybe not, then,” Willow shrugged. “But it is possible. Anyway. Walani is a surfer. I don’t really share any interests with her, but she’s pleasant enough. Warly is a chef, and Wilbur is, uh, a monkey.”

“There’s been a monkey?” Wilson laughed, actually laughed. _Now I’ve heard it all_ , he thought.

“WELL, THERE HAS BEEN A ROBOT,” WX-78 said seriously.

“Good point,” Willow said, nodding. “Wilbur hasn’t been… exceptionally helpful. Last I heard, he was tagging along with Maxwell. Warly’s the most recent _human_ returnee; he’ll be the most useful to us.”

Wilson thought he had at least half of the names down. From the descriptions, he figured he’d learn who was who pretty quickly in person. One question remained: “So… what’s the plan, exactly? We pick up Webber, stuff Maxwell and Wilbur into the trunk-“ WX laughed, a burst of garbled static, “-drive up to Kankakee and…? All of us dive headlong into a portal?” Wilson tried to laugh, too, but it stuck in his throat. He swallowed.

“…Not quite,” Willow said, chuckling. “There are a lot of us, and it would take far too many resources to support everyone. At the same time, there’s safety in numbers. I have my choices for who’s going to go in with Webber and me, depending on the state of the World according to Warly.”

“Mm. Alright.” Curiosity sated, Wilson leaned his head against the window and stared out at the forest surrounding the car as the trees rushed by. The regular movement of the car rocked him to sleep within minutes.

###### 

WX-78 regarded the slumbering scientist with mild interest before turning to sit properly. “HE ISN’T ONE OF YOUR ‘CHOICES,’ I HOPE,” it said in a low hum.

“Actually,” Willow said, “he’s my top pick. You’re up there, too.”

“HE WON’T FORGIVE YOU FOR SOMETHING LIKE THAT.”

“I forgave him, didn’t I?”

WX-78 was silent a moment. _DID YOU_? “WHY HIM?” it asked. “OR ME, FOR THAT MATTER.”

“You’re just useful. The gear upgrades; ability to eat spoiled food; and you’re, you know, centered.”

“A GROUNDED CONDUCTOR,” WX-78 said, trying not to look upset when Willow didn’t laugh.

“As for Wilson, well… you said it yourself, WX. The world was _made_ for him.” Willow glanced back at Wilson. WX turned to look. The scientist’s face was calm, an expression of his WX-78 wasn’t used to. “My other top picks are Wendy, Walani, and Wigfrid, but like I said before, it all depends on the state of the world. I’m definitely _not_ taking Warly, Wes, or Wolfgang.”

“I UNDERSTAND YOUR REASONS FOR MOST OF THESE CHOICES,” WX-78 spoke after a significant pause to process. “BUT WARLY?”

The robot sensed Willow’s grip on the steering wheel tighten. “He’s – well – his upkeep, I guess. He’s a hell of a chef – useful, but high-maintenance. Useful. But…”

“…YOU DON’T WANT TO FORCE HIM BACK THERE, NOT RIGHT AFTER HE ESCAPED,” WX-78 stated. Willow could act all she liked, but she was human, too, and held back by the same old human flaws.

“WX, please. I’m trying to lead.”

“YOU ARE SUCCEEDING,” WX assured her, “BUT DO NOT ASSUME THAT THE BEST WAY TO LEAD IS BY PRETEN-TEN-TEN-TEN—( _whack_ ) …PRETENDING TO BE SOMETHING YOU ARE NOT.” It stared straight ahead. If it unfocused its optic sensors, it almost looked as if their vehicle was not moving. “HUMANS APPRECIATE HONESTY.”

“And you?”

“I APPRECIATE NOT HAVING TO CALL ATTENTION TO BLATANT UNTRUTHS,” it said.


	4. Chapter 3

Willow sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose briefly. “I just need the next nine hours to go smoothly,” she said. “That’s it.”

“KNOWING US,” WX buzzed, staticky laughter just audible, “THAT WON’T HAPPEN.”

Willow shook her head. “I know, WX. Lord, just… let me hope? Please. Is that too much to ask?”

“I… NO,” WX-78 said. “I DON’T WANT YOU TO BE TOO SHAKEN, THOUGH, WHEN THINGS GO TO HELL.”

“Okay. I understand.” She didn’t want to hear it. Willow knew it was going to ‘GO TO HELL’ sooner or later, but she had nine hours of driving to do and damn it, she wanted things to just… settle. Like ashes. She sniffed the exhaust in the air, finding it synthetic now, and disappointing.  _ I never get to light any good fires anymore _ , she thought wistfully.

She didn’t miss that other world, but there were parts of it that she… mourned, in a way. She couldn’t be burned there, for one thing, but it went beyond that. The world had possessed a sort of unearthly  _ respect  _ for fire that made her feel important, made her feel integral to the structure of the world itself.

Willow didn’t miss that world; she missed who she had been in it.

She wondered whether Wilson or WX felt the same way – whether any of the others felt the same way.  _ Wendy, perhaps _ , she thought sadly.  _ Wendy and Abigail _ .

Willow thought back to Wilson’s surprise at the idea of sending a child into the other world.  _ That is just  _ so  _ like him _ . Wilson, she remembered, liked to pretend he was a better person than he actually happened to be. Questioning Willow’s morality was just a ploy to make Wilson seem like he cared. Like he had some kind of ethical standard. Just a defense mechanism, so that he could pretend  _ she  _ was the villain of some kind of dastardly plot. So that he, Wilson the scientist, could be safe and comfortable with the dark truth of their “experiment.”

Though, she hated calling the mission an experiment, even in her head. It was too cold, too clinical. Inhumane, really. Though she supposed there was some accuracy in that.

WX was right. She was lying with this, this “distant leader” façade. But it was best to have someone level-headed and driven, wasn’t it? She could keep everyone focused on the endgame like this. She was the torch.

She smiled – she definitely liked that metaphor – and thought to herself,  _ only a couple hours to go _ . Only a couple hours to go.

She repeated it to herself as she continued driving; an hour and a half to go; an hour to go; thirty minutes; fifteen minutes; ten; five. The Illinois forest was damp and green, not prime kindling, but it was nice to imagine. When she parked at the trailhead, she stared into the trees. They weren’t dense, but the sky was cloudy and as she peered harder the forest seemed to darken.

“Get up, Wilson,” she said, reaching into the back to shake the man by the shoulder. He groaned and peeled the side of his face off of the car window. His hair was all bent and misshapen from being pressed against the glass for so long; Willow almost laughed.

* * *

“Where-?” Wilson shook his head, disoriented. He’d slept so well that he was having trouble processing the idea that he’d been asleep at all. Maybe he’d buy a car and teach WX to drive. He could certainly use the rest.

“WE’RE GOING BUG HUNTING,” WX-78 said from the front.

“Bug hunt—oh! Yes, I remember.” Wilson scrambled out of the car, combing his fingers through his hair – it must’ve gotten messy during the nap. Willow was very pointedly not laughing. Yes. Definitely messy.

He straightened his shirt collar and drew himself up to his full height, which was still a couple of inches shorter than Willow, the action providing some welcome relief to his cramped spine. “How do we plan to lure out Webber, then? Spiders aren’t known for being susceptible to bait.”

“Yeah, I did some research, and it’s pretty much impossible to attract a spider,” Willow said. “So we’re going to target the child.” She dragged a beaten old rucksack – a school bag, really – out of the trunk of the car. “I’m prepared. Let’s just, you know, get to a good spot. Then we’ll see what happens.”

“I suppose,” Wilson said, frowning. He fell into step beside WX as they started out on the faint trail. The robot was holding its umbrella in both hands like a comfort object.

“SHOULD I HAVE BROUGHT A CLOAK OR SOME SUCH? IF THERE ARE ANY OTHER HUMANS HERE—“

“It’s art,” Willow said from a ways ahead. “We’re here photographing some things for a display.”

“I like your costume, Wix,” Wilson said, smirking. “Very modern.”

“OH, SHUT UP,” WX said, shaking its head.

The group walked a few minutes in silence.

“Willow, do you, err… do you actually know where you’re going?”

“Eh, I mean, kind of?” She shrugged.

Wilson raised an eyebrow at WX, but the ‘bot didn’t react. “SHE KNOWS MORE ABOUT WHERE WE’RE GOING THAN YOU DO.”

“Right you are, Wix,” Willow crowed.

“YOU, TOO, WITH THE NICKNAMES?”

Willow laughed. She had taken her lighter out of her pocket and was flicking it off and on, just like Wilson remembered.

Not that he  _ wanted  _ to remember much of anything about Willow. That was a period of his life he’d be far better off forgetting. Stupid lighter. Stupid fire. Any time he saw a flame – or, hell, even a flickering light – he would think of her, and everything would come rushing back. Stupid, stupid, stupid,  _ stupid— _

“WILSON. DO YOU KNOW WHAT KIND OF TREES THOSE ARE?” WX-78 pointed out a circle of trees whose green leaves were in the process of turning red-orange.

Wilson glanced in that direction, distracted. “Sugar maples, I believe?” He shook his head, then looked closer at the bark and leaves. ”I’m not a botanist, you know—oh!” There were tangles of cobweb draped from the boughs of the trees. “Willow, I believe this may be a sign of our target.” He trotted up to her and gestured.

“Fantastic; that means we’re close. Good find.”

Wilson looked a little more carefully. “Oh, but don’t get too excited. The webs look old. If the boy was here, he’s probably moved on by now.”

Willow nodded. “So we keep looking,” she said, pocketing her lighter (thank goodness) and scanning the forest.

“HERE,” WX-78 called out after a short walk. The robot was examining a fallen tree, the diameter of which was over half WX’s height. The upturned roots had been swathed in spiderwebs to create a den of sorts.  _ Big enough for a boy, _ Wilson thought.  _ It really is him. _

“IT DOESN’T LOOK WATERPROOF,” WX observed.

“Concerned, Wix?” Willow asked.

The robot huffed. “NO, I AM NOT ‘CONCERNED.’ I AM COMMENTING ON THIS STRUCTURE’S ARCHITECTURAL FLAWS.”

Wilson peered inside the ‘nest.’ There were strands of coarse, black hair covering the ground, and a handful of bones (mixed rodents, likely) strewn at one end.  _ He knows how to hunt _ .

“We need to keep looking; he can’t be far.”

“WILSON. I THINK THIS MAY BE IMPORTANT.”

“Well, if it’s not a spider, then I don’t think—oh, God.” Embedded clearly into the mud just off the trail was a stark imprint of a human shoe. Wilson could make out the tracks leading away from the trail.

“What’s—oh.” Willow frowned at the footprint. “Looks fresh, huh?”

Wilson nodded.

“ANALYSIS COMPLETE. STYLE: FORMAL. STRIDE: PURPOSEFUL. DESTINATION…” WX’s gaze followed the choppy trail to a dense patch of bamboo. “…UNKNOWN.”

Wilson felt a very distinct wave of anxiety rise in his chest.

* * *

WX-78 had tripped over no fewer than three bamboo shoots concealed by the carpet of pointed leaves, and it was, frankly, tired of it. It felt like they were going in circles; not long after entering the stalks, the group had lost sight of both the trail of footprints  _ and _ any feasible way out.  _ CAN WE GO HOME, ALREADY? _ it thought, cursing “Webber” for being the cause of its misery.

After a few more strides, Willow, who had been leading the way, stopped, crossed her arms, and groaned. “Well,” she stated, “I’m lost.”

Wilson grinned weakly. “Would you say you’re  _ bamboozled _ ?”

“Don’t,” Willow said gently, in the manner of an old, disappointed professor.

Wilson laughed.

“WE COULD TRY WHATEVER LURE YOU PREPARED, WILLOW,” WX suggested.

“I guess,” Willow said, pulling a carton out of her backpack. Upon closer inspection, WX could see that it was a box of sour candy.

“ _ THAT’S  _ YOUR PLAN?”

“Well, I mean… yes?” Willow opened the carton and popped a candy into her mouth. “If it doesn’t work, more for me, right?”

_ BETTER THAN NOTHING…? _ WX examined the remaining contents of her backpack while Willow stood still, allowing it. She had a portable radio ( _ HA. BEST NOT GET THAT OUT WITH WILSON HERE _ ), a couple of chocolate bars, and a box of matches.

“WE MIGHT AS WELL TRY,” WX said, shrugging and closing Willow’s pack.

Wilson shook a bamboo pole. A hearty rattle emitted from overhead. “Bamb-ient sound,” he said.

“Wilson, I’m going to tie you down and let that thing grow through you,” Willow said. She shook the sour candy box. “I don’t know how this is going to work.”

There was a slow, uncomfortable silence as all three individuals stared at the candy box in Willow’s hand.

“I should probably have thought this through a bit better—“ Willow began, but she was cut off by a rattle of bamboo directly above.

WX looked up in time to see a shadow dart between the stalks high overhead, producing another eerie noise. As the figure, small and lithe, zipped by once more, the light glinted off of something on its person, distracting from the figure itself. WX-78 looked to Willow and saw her tracking the shape with narrow eyes.

The shadow suddenly swung around a bamboo stalk with a shriek, landing lightly on the ground and looking up at the party with two beady eyes. WX felt one of Wilson’s hands clench around its arm.

The monkey plucked a shiny crown from the grip of its tail, doffed it respectfully, and placed it jauntily on its head. It offered one long-fingered hand to Willow and chittered a greeting.

Willow regarded the monkey silently – coldly, even. “Wilbur,” she acknowledged. The monkey cocked its head as it withdrew its proffered hand, and it made a gentle exclamation, tugging at its red shirt. Wilbur’s eyes passed over Wilson and WX. It gave Willow a nod and calmly loped over to the duo, circling them once.

It extended its hand to Wilson first. The scientist dazedly detached his hand from WX’s arm to shake with the creature, who crowed and puffed out its chest. The monkey then moved on to WX, but it did not offer to shake. It tilted its head and eyed the automaton with interest.

“WHAT, NEVER SEEN A ROBOT BEFORE?” WX asked, almost amused by the thing.

It had no time to react as Wilbur quickly and elegantly scampered up its body and perched on its shoulders.

“WHAT—HEY! GET O-OFF!” WX reeled as it pulled the monkey away by the shirt. Wilbur screeched and grabbed for purchase, gaining a grip on the robot’s arms and flipping himself around and onto WX’s back. He hung there, just out of reach of the flailing metal arms.

WX turned its attention to Willow, who was laughing hysterically. “GET HIM OFF OF ME.”

Willow made as if to do so and Wilbur bared his teeth at her. He shrieked.

“I think he likes you,” Willow said, wiping her eyes as she choked back laughter.

“WELL, I DO NOT LIKE HIM.”

“He won’t let me touch him, Wix. You’re stuck.”

Wilson, who had remained silent throughout the commotion, cleared his throat very quietly. “You said Wilbur had been hanging around Maxwell,” he said. WX froze and Wilbur climbed back to its shoulders. “Willow, he’s… he’s  _ here _ . He…”

“Wilson—“

“I can’t—Willow, I can’t.” Wilson had backed into a thicker cluster of stalks. Wilbur shifted around and crooned at him, then wrapped its arms tightly around WX’s neck, still softly vocalizing.

And with a faint rustling and an uncharacteristically melancholy expression, Maxwell appeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worth the wait, I hope!


End file.
